“How’s that?” he asked.
“We’re already in too deep, Rafe. I’m certain you don’t make it habit to sleep with—”
“I’ve never slept with a witness,” he said, interrupting Simone. “You’re the first and I promise that you will be the last.”
“Who you sleep with once you leave—”
“Please don’t say it, Simone. Let’s not talk about the future.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“We need to talk about us—now.”
“No, we don’t, Rafe. What we need to do is enjoy the time we have left.”
Rafe wanted to shake Simone until she was too breathless to say anything. “We are going to do that. But—”
“But nothing,” Simone interrupted, yet again.
“Micah’s right when he told me that my woman has some mouth.”
Don’t, a silent voice warned her. Think before you say anything. She counted slowly to ten as she swallowed back her acerbic retort. Simone knew she’d changed, because in the past she would’ve come back at Rafe like a lit fuse seconds from detonation. She wasn’t certain what had brought about her change in attitude, but she liked the new Simone Whitfield.
“Do you like my mouth?” she asked instead.
“You have the sexiest mouth of any woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of kissing.”
“And how many women have you kissed, Raphael Madison?”
“I plead the Fifth.”
She smiled. “Did you have groupies when you were a baller?”
Rafe’s jaw tightened. “I was never what you would refer to as a baller,” he said between clenched teeth. “There were no women waiting for me at hotels or stadium exits when the team traveled from city to city.”
“Did you have a special girlfriend?”
“Yes,” he said truthfully. “I was in a relationship.”
“Was it serious?”
A wry smile twisted his mouth. “It was more serious for me than it was for her.”
“She cheated on you.” Simone’s query was a statement.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Simone.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“I’ve wanted to talk about us for the past five minutes, but you keep interrupting me, baby.”
“Talk, Rafe,” she drawled.
“I didn’t tell you…” His words trailed off when a loud pop from burning wood, followed by a shower of embers came from behind the decorative wrought-iron fireplace screen. “I didn’t tell you that I’d pledged a black Greek fraternity because you probably wouldn’t have believed me. Even when I told you that I’d attended FMU you looked at me as if I’d grown an extra eye. There’s no need for me to go around with a sign pasted on my back that I’m African-American because I know who and what I am.”
A loud snapping sound reverberated throughout the bathroom, stopping all conversation. Simone and Rafe stared at the showers of embers lighting up the bathroom like flashes of lightning. They sat, watching the fire shower in an awed silence.
CHAPTER 18
“Which one of your parents is black?” Simone asked Rafe when the impromptu fire show ended.
“My mother. She’s a direct descendant of former slaves fleeing Louisiana after Reconstruction. Her family settled in Nicodemus, Kansas, which is now a national historic site under the U.S. Park Service. It also holds the distinction of being the only remaining all black town west of the Mississippi that was settled in the 1800s.”
Simone heard the pride in her lover’s voice. “How did she meet your father?”
“My father, who lived in Waterville, was driving to Topeka when he was involved in a multiple-car pileup on the highway during an ice storm.”
The bubbles disappeared, the water cooled, the fire blazed less brightly and the candles grew smaller as Simone listened to Rafe talk about his family. Esther offering to let Gideon Madison sit in her warm truck because his had sustained severe front-end damage was the beginning of what would become a courtship when Gideon drove more than two hundred miles from Waterville to Nicodemus to see Esther every weekend. They’d decided he would save time, money and lots of gas if they married.
Esther, a college-educated teacher, gave up her career to become a farmer’s wife and stay-at-home mom. Her thirst for teaching never waned when she taught her son and daughter to read before they celebrated their fourth birthdays.
Simone was unable to control the shiver that raced throughout her body when Rafe spoke of Gideon admitting to hearing voices. His increasing paranoia, violent outbursts and eventual break with reality came when he’d imagined everyone was trying to kill him.
“I’d signed a three-year, multimillion-dollar contract to pitch for the San Diego Padres, traveling to a different city every four or five days and going back to Waterville every chance I got. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Everything came to a head when my sister called to tell me that my father was threatening to kill my mother because the voices told him she was evil.
“I asked the team’s general manager for emergency family leave to return to Kansas. He was reluctant to approve it because the team had earned a spot in the postseason playoffs. He wanted me to promise that I’d be back in time for the playoffs, but I couldn’t.”
Simone closed her eyes. “Did you make it back in time?”
Rafe shook his head. “No. We lost and I was accused of selling out my team. Then came the threatening phone calls and hate mail, and when it came time to renegotiate my contract, I opted not to sign and quit baseball.”
“What happened after that?” Simone’s voice was barely a whisper.
“I moved my mother and sister into the house I’d bought in San Diego, then returned to Waterville to take steps to have my father committed so that he could get the help he needed. Meanwhile, I’d applied to the U.S. Marshals Service. While I waited for them to complete a background check, I used that time to get a graduate degree in criminal justice with a concentration in pre-law.”
“You want to become a lawyer?”
“I don’t want to practice law. I’d like to teach it.”
Now Simone understood why Rafe had spent so much time talking to Micah and Edgar Sanborn. Edgar taught at Princeton and Micah was a district attorney. “When do you plan to go to law school?”
If someone had asked Rafe that question before he met Simone Whitfield, he would’ve said in ten years. Now, he wasn’t so certain. He didn’t want to leave Simone. He’d grown tired of sleeping in strange beds in hotels, motels or safe houses in different cities when called upon to protect a witness. At thirty-five, he wanted and needed stability.
“I’d planned to give the Marshals Service another ten years, but now I’m not that certain.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“There are a number of reasons, and the first one is age.”
“What about your age?” Simone asked.
“I’ll be forty-five by the time I start law school. I don’t want my classmates to mistake me for their instructor instead of a student.”
“Can’t you transfer to a department within the Marshals Service where you don’t have to do a lot traveling, or one where you have set hours? Then you can attend law school part-time. That’s what Micah did.”
“I could apply for court security.”
“There you go,” Simone said proudly. “See, you just solved your own problem.”
“No, baby. You just helped me solve my problem.”
Simone managed to turn and lay atop Rafe without splashing water onto the floor, her oil-slick breasts flattening against his hard chest. “I think it’s time we get out of this tub before I shrivel up like a prune.”
Gasping and breathing heavily, Rafe closed his eyes when he felt his sex swell. “Don’t do that, Simone.”
“Do what, darling?”
“Hump me.”
With wide eyes, she gave him a look of pure innocence. “I�
��m not humping you.”
Placing his hands over her bottom, he pressed her hips to his groin. “Feel that?”
Simone smiled. “What, pray tell, in the world is that?”
“You don’t know?” Rafe loved Simone even more when she was soft, teasing.
“No, darling, I don’t know.”
“I suppose I’ll have to show you.” Bracing an arm on the edge of the tub, he pushed to his feet, bringing Simone up with him.
They stood in the bathtub, sharing a smile reserved for lovers. Anchoring an arm around Simone’s waist, Rafe stepped out onto the shaggy rug, bringing her with him. He took his time drying her body with a thirsty towel from the stack on the nearby stool. It was her turn to dry him; she lingered over hard planes of his body and between his legs until his desire for her superseded their tactile seduction.
Bending slightly, Rafe swept Simone up off the rug and carried her through her bedroom and down the hallway to his bedroom. It’d been ten days since he last made love with Simone—ten long, agonizing days where she slept beside him and he couldn’t touch her.
He paused to protect her from an unplanned pregnancy, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. And when he found himself inside Simone, he knew then that he wanted her as his wife and the mother of their children.
* * *
“I don’t want my daughter’s wedding to look as if we’re under siege.” Malcolm Whitfield’s voice was low, angry.
Rafe didn’t drop his gaze. “I can assure you, Mr. Whitfield, that my men are trained to be unobtrusive enough to blend in with your wedding guests. I will post two at the door as security. They’ll be responsible for matching names with your daughter’s guest list. Two will be in the parking area and the last two will circulate among your guests.”
He’d called the lead U.S. attorney on Benton’s case and put in a request for six marshals to provide backup at Simone Whitfield’s sister’s wedding. It took less than thirty-six hours for his request to be approved and earlier that morning half a dozen marshals in business suits arrived at Whitfield Caterers.
“And I can assure you that nothing’s going to jump off here with half the guests representing the NYPD.”
“Simone is not a witness for the New York Police Department, so it’s the Feds’ responsibility to provide protection for her.”
Malcolm ran a hand over his face, knowing he was fighting a losing battle with the taciturn lawman “playing house” with his daughter. That was what Simone told him when she explained why a man had moved into her home. Whenever he observed the marshal with Simone, he’d detected a vaguely sexual magnetism between them. He’d never been one to get involved in his children’s lives, but he wanted to tell Raphael Madison that his taking added precautions to provide witness protection for Simone went above and beyond the call of duty.
Nodding, Malcolm blew out a breath. “Okay. I’ll allow them, but the minute I see a gun or pair of handcuffs, they’re out of here.”
It was Rafe’s turn to nod. He didn’t want to warn Simone’s father that he would be the one in cuffs if he sought to interfere with the government’s attempt to bring Ian Benton to justice.
Rising to his feet, Rafe offered his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Whitfield.”
Malcolm stood up and took the offered hand. “You can dispense with the Mr. Whitfield and call me Malcolm. After all, you are living with my daughter.”
Rafe’s expression didn’t change with the older man’s veiled innuendo. He inclined his head. “Malcolm it is.”
Malcolm glanced at his timepiece under the French cuff to his dress shirt. “You have twenty minutes to get your men into position.” Reaching for the jacket to his tuxedo, he slipped his arms into the sleeves. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a daughter to give away in marriage.”
Rafe walked out after Malcolm, signaling to the heavily armed men standing in the hallway. He quickly gave them their orders, then went to look for Simone before the ceremony began. She told him that she was doing triple duty as wedding planner, floral designer and bridal attendant.
He’d found it hard to believe it’d been seven weeks since he’d come face-to-face with Simone Whitfield for the first time. And what was more amazing was the deep, abiding love for her that had nothing to do with them sleeping together. He wanted her awake or asleep, in and out of bed. They’d established a ritual of retreating to the back porch after dinner to sit and watch the sunset. Most times they sat silently, each lost in their private musings.
It was a time when Rafe mentally rehearsed for the day and time he would have to leave Simone. He’d told himself to be strong, stay strong, over and over until he believed he was. But would the mental calisthenics sustain him when he returned to his Poughkeepsie condo to kick back and relax before the next assignment?
Coming to a stop in front of the door to the room where he’d left Simone with the other members of Tessa’s wedding party, Rafe rapped lightly on the door. He identified himself when a feminine voice asked who was it. When the door opened, he went completely still as Simone stood before him in a strapless silk chiffon gown in a robin’s-egg-blue that shimmered against her skin, the color of burnished gold. Delicate feathers dyed the same blue color covered the crown of her head and curved under her jaw to her chin. A pair of large Tahitian pearl earrings suspended from a drop of bezel-set diamonds was her only jewelry.
“You look so incredibly beautiful.” Simone’s eyes appeared abnormally large and bright, and he attributed it to anticipation and excitement.
“Thank you. Why are you here?” she asked, lowering her voice to a whisper.
He took a step, lowered his head and brushed his mouth over her ear. “I came to tell you something.”
Simone closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She knew whatever he had to tell her was related to the Benton case. “What is it?”
“Open your eyes, Simone.”
Her eyelids fluttered wildly until she focused her gaze. “Why?”
“I want you to look at me when I tell you that I love you.”
Her lips parted. “No,” she whispered.
Anchoring a hand on the wall over her head, Rafe leaned in closer. “Yes! I love you, Simone Whitfield.” Pushing off the wall, he turned and made his way into the sanctuary where Tessa Whitfield was expected to exchange vows with Micah Sanborn.
All eyes were trained on the bride and groom as Tessa raised the hem of her gown with one hand and grasped Micah’s with the other. They jumped over a ceremonial broom tied together with a bow in the same robin’s-egg-blue silk of Simone’s gown. The velvet-stemmed Tweedia flower added “something blue” to the white-on-white bridal bouquet of sparkling white roses and orchids tied together with satin-silk ribbon and corsage pins. Rafe’s gaze was fixed on Simone.
It was uncanny how quickly he’d learned the different names of flowers, recognizing them by sight. Simone had worked tirelessly for three days to design flowers for the reception: the entryway, bar decorations, centerpieces, the bride and groom’s chairs, the buffet table, the cake table and the powder rooms.
Tessa had confided to him at the rehearsal dinner that she’d wanted a church wedding, but the minister hadn’t been able to accommodate her because there were two other weddings scheduled for the same day. The only alterative was to hold the wedding and reception dinner at Whitfield Caterers.
His gaze caressed Simone’s delicate profile and the velvety smoothness of her bare arms and shoulders. He’d told her that he loved her, confessed what lay in his heart and she could only say no. Had she said no because she didn’t want to hear it, or was it a “No, don’t love me,” or “I don’t love you”?
Rafe directed his focus on the wedding party. Tessa exemplified the beauty and elegance of a Signature bride in a white silk-satin strapless Asian-inspired wedding gown with a kimono-style platinum-hued sash that accentuated her slim waist. Faith, as Tessa’s matron of honor, wore a backless gown in a gunmetal gray with a large satin bow attached on the l
eft side of the waist. Marisol Sanborn’s black curly hair was blown straight and ended at the waist of her pale blue A-line satin gown with narrow straps tucked into a bow at the small of her back.
Micah had selected his father as his best man and his brothers William and Abram as his groomsmen. The family of the groom had elected to wear varying shades of gray while the bride’s family had selected varying shades of blue.
After the exchange of vows and rings, the officiating judge, a Sanborn family friend, declared Micah and Tessa Sanborn husband and wife.
* * *
“Look this way, Simone, and lift your chin just a tad. Yes, that’s it.”
Simone fixed a smile and stared directly at the photographer as he shot several frames before suggesting another pose. Her distraction was a direct result of Rafe’s unexpected declaration of love. It’d taken all of her concentration to walk down the white carpet without glancing over at Rafe. At first, she thought she’d imagined him telling her that he loved her because that was what she’d wished, hoped and prayed for.
Why, she mused, hadn’t he told her the night before, when they’d sat in her mother’s parlor talking after everyone had gone to bed? They’d talked about any and everything but themselves.
And in keeping his promise, wherever she went, he was there: when she’d decorated the rooms where the Whitfield-Sanborn party was to be held, gone to the rehearsal dinner at Franklin Lakes with the Sanborns and returned to Mount Vernon to spend the night with her parents. She’d slept in her old bedroom, while Lucinda had offered Rafe one of the guest bedrooms.
She met his gaze briefly as he stood in a corner, watching the picture-taking session. Simone wanted to tell Rafe that there was no need to watch her because she was among family and friends.
The photographer held up a hand. “That’s it for now, folks.”
There came a collective sigh from everyone in the wedding party as they filed out of the room. Simone had instructed someone on the waitstaff to bring Faith a small plate of fruit and vegetables to sustain her during the hour-long photo session, while the wedding guests were enjoying the cocktail hour before the wedding party arrived for a buffet dinner.
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